Kill the Messenger
by lost-in-elysium
Summary: Unable to keep his secret any longer, Dylan tells Emma what he knows regarding her mother's disappearance. Determined to uncover the truth, they pay a visit to Bates Motel to get answers from Norman, but will they find what they are looking for? Imagining of season five. Dylemma. Major character death. REVISED.
1. Chapter 1

**Kill the Messenger**

 **A Bates Motel Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Unable to keep his secret any longer, Dylan tells Emma what he knows regarding her mother's disappearance. Determined to uncover the truth, they pay a visit to Bates Motel to get answers from Norman, but will they find what they are looking for? Imagining of season five. Dylemma. Major character death.

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, sensuality, and major character death. One scene in chapter four contains intense violence that may disturbing to some readers.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **A/N:** We apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors in advance. We have yet to watch season five and are refraining from watching until this story is completed so it will not influence the course of this story.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 _Norman killed her._

The thought bulked large in his mind, an anchor to his heart and soul.

 _She'll laugh when I tell her._ If he hadn't known better Dylan would, too. Norman Bates was linked to Aubrey Decody's disappearance. How deeply and in what ways, he couldn't say, but a hunch told him more than he cared to know.

 _Will she ever forgive me?_

"Hey."

His eyes snapped open, heart aflutter. Clearing his throat, Dylan shifted, his features settling into a deadpan. "Hey, Emma. You, uh, scared me."

"Sorry." She plopped onto him, eyes and smile blazing. "How about I make it up to you..." Her lips tantalized him to kiss them, " _Later_." Before Dylan could, Emma slid off his lap, hooking a dark lock behind her ear that adamantly refused to stay. He grunted, angry she tempted him, angrier at himself for letting her. "Don't want Dad walking in on us." Privacy still eluded them on the outskirts of Seattle. "What are you doing?"

He stopped rocking the bench. "Nothing. Just thinking."

Emma smirked, propping her elbow on the armrest and her chin on the heel of her hand. "About what?"

Dylan sighed. How could he implicate his brother in Emma's estranged mother's disappearance? Cold feet thwarted him each time he tried broaching the subject.

"Do you miss home? Is that it?"

 _If only it was that simple._ "Actually, I do miss it..." White Pine Bay was 'home' in its loosest, most rudimentary connotation. "But because I got used to it, you know? Change can be scary sometimes."

"Of course it can." Emma clasped his hand and Dylan squeezed back, brushing his thumb over and marveling the strength belying her dainty fingers. "Dylan, I'm _so_ sorry. I was selfish asking you to come here with me and my dad. I -"

Dylan held a finger to her lips. "Emma, _stop_." He hated when she accepted faults that weren't hers. "I wanted to come here. I knew what I was doing when I moved out of White Pine Bay; I left on my own accord. It's hard, but I don't regret it at all. Home is wherever you are." He cringed inwardly at the words: sappy but sincere.

"Thanks. You're a rare breed, Dylan. I'm lucky to have you."

"Ditto." _Damn it._ He bit his lip. He thought he could spare her from a lifetime of heartache, but who was he fooling?

"Emma, I need to tell you something."

She frowned. "What's wrong?" _He's breaking up with me._ Cystic fibrosis lied in her genes, not her chest; the lung transplant was a stopgap, not a cure. Dylan should escape while he can...before they both got in too deep.

 _Too late for that._

"I'm not leaving, Emma. I love you."

She released a bated breath. "I love you, too. What's wrong?"

He licked his lips, mustering courage. "I need to tell you something about your mom."

Emma stiffened. _Mom._ Aubrey did not merit the title. "You mean mother - as in 'the woman who gave birth to me.'" If her _mother_ cared, she would have never deserted her or her dad. "What about her?"

Dylan sighed. "I hate to be the harbinger of bad news but I...I thinkNormankilledher." He forced the rest of his sentence out before he could regret it.

Emma stared wide-eyed, mouth agape. "W-What?"

"I think your mom stayed at the motel after your dad told her to leave the hospital the day of your surgery."

"You think Norman killed my _mom?_ "

"I don't know for sure. But when I reviewed the logs, I saw she checked in, but never out..." His silence spoke for him.

"So?" Emma stood, swathing her cardigan around her as she stood and paced the floor. "You know my mom. She was practically a nomad. She leaves without telling anyone, like how she did with me and my dad."

"What about her cell? Don't you find it weird it was shut off?"

She faced him, arms akimbo, equipped with an arsenal of alibis. "No, I don't. She didn't keep up with her bills; the phone company probably deactivated it when she stopped making payments."

"There's more. I was in Norman's room and I found a letter from your Mom in his nightstand drawer. She really wanted to see you, Emma, but because of your dad...I think she may have asked Norma or Norman to deliver the letter for her, but, for whatever reason, it never got to you."

Emma thrust out her hand. "Let me see it."

Dylan burrowed his hands into his pockets and gazed at his battered Timberlands. "I don't have it." He winced, the words crippling his credibility.

She crossed her arms. "How do I know you're not lying to me?"

"Why would I about this, Emma?" His voice grew taut with indignation. "Do you think I'm saying this to deliberately hurt you?"

"I don't know - you tell me!"

Dylan's equanimity started slipping. "I don't have the letter because I didn't want Norman to notice it was gone. Then he would know that _I_ knew."

She scoffed. "This is ridiculous! I can't - I _don't_ believe you. I know Norman has issues, but you actually think he would kill someone? My own _mother_? He wouldn't harm a fly!"

"I know you're in denial, Emma, but you don't know Norman like I do. He's unstable...he has black outs and doesn't remember what he does during them. I was pissed when I found out Norma let him leave Pineview. He shouldn't be out in society - not until he gets help. But he's too deep in denial to realize how sick he is." His words didn't efface the skepticism on her face. "There was something else besides the letter." As an afterthought, he added, "I saw a stuffed rabbit from your Mom. It was one of your favorite toys as a child, right?"

Emma nodded, grudging him the point. "It was. How did it end up in Norman's room?"

"I told you - your mom was a guest at the motel. She must have ran into Norman and something happened."

She brushed past him and wrenched the door open. "I don't feel very well. I'm going to lie down." When Dylan moved to follow, she whipped around and raised her hand - palm outward, fingers splayed - repelling him. " _Alone._ "

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Chapter 2 is coming next week. Please let us know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Kill the Messenger**

 **A Bates Motel Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Unable to keep his secret any longer, Dylan tells Emma what he knows regarding her mother's disappearance. Determined to uncover the truth, they pay a visit to Bates Motel to get answers from Norman, but will they find what they are looking for? Imagining of season five. Dylemma. Major character death.

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, sensuality, and major character death. One scene in chapter four contains intense violence that may disturbing to some readers.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **A/N:** We apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors in advance.

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

"Is Emma alright?" Mr. Decody irrupted into the kitchen and Dylan's thoughts, setting a pair of grocery bags on the counter to wash his hands.

"I don't know. I think she's sick. She said she wasn't feeling well..."

The older man glanced over his shoulder, turning off the spigot and drying his hands, forehead crumpling as he slammed a paper towel wad into the trash. "Really? I hope everything's alright. We should make sure she doesn't have an infection. You know she has a greater chance of getting sick with the immunosuppressants she's on…"

"I doubt she has anything, but I'd be more than happy to take her temperature for you."

"Thanks, Dylan."

"You're welcome." He retrieved the thermometer from the junk drawer, rattling its contents when he shut it.

"I'll put some soup on for her."

Dylan nodded and left Mr. Decody to ransack the cabinets for a pot. He trudged to Emma's room, dreading the imminently inevitable beyond the door.

"Emma?" He knocked three times. No answer. "I'm coming in." He tentatively cracked the door, peering through before pushing it ajar.

She laid curled into a fetal position on her bed, reminding Dylan of a psych lecture on the defense mechanism _regression_ \- how one reverted to an earlier stage of development to cope.

"Emma." She didn't stir at her name, nor the close of the door. Dylan slapped the thermometer against his palm as he perched on the mattress. He stroked her cheek and hair, grateful she didn't recoil from his touch. _Maybe she wants me here, after all._ "I need to check your temperature to make sure you don't have an infection."

"You know why I feel sick," she mumbled without facing him.

"I do, but your dad doesn't. He just wants to be sure, okay?"

Rolling her eyes with a scoff, she twisted around, propped herself onto one elbow, opened her mouth and pursed her lips around the probe he slid under her tongue.

 _Beep! Beep!_

"Ninety-eight point one. Good." Dylan inserted the device into its cover before setting it on the nightstand. "Your dad's making soup."

His words landed on deaf ears. "I want to see him."

Dylan frowned. "Who? Your dad?" He straightened. "I'll go -"

"No." Emma, latching onto his wrist, yanked him down. "Not him. Norman, I mean."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, Dylan. You said my mom was murdered. You didn't expect me to sit there and accept it, did you? We need to investigate. I want answers, and, according to you, Norman is the only one who has them. I deserve to know the truth."

"Of course you do. I agree with you one hundred percent. But I don't think that's a great idea -"

"I didn't ask for your opinion!" she snapped, then dropped her head in her hands. Dylan enveloped his arms around her as she rocked to and fro, kneading her biceps, determination blazing in her eyes, through the sheen of tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out at you like that. I'm just upset. I'm going to do this, with or without you."

"I'm going with you." _No doubt about that._ He rejected every other alternative. Wherever Emma went, he would follow, and only Death could stop him. "I won't let you do this alone. But you don't know Norman like I do. He probably won't remember what happened; I don't think he'll be much help."

Emma's resolve didn't falter. "It's still worth a try."

* * *

"Help me understand. You want to visit Dylan's family in White Pine Bay?"

"Yes, Dad. I haven't really gotten to see them since the surgery." Emma reassured herself for the umpteenth time the lie was justified, but the guilt didn't lessen. Her father would never approve of her amateur investigation, so what other choice did she have?

Mr. Decody looked down, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "Emma, asking to go away for a few days is like asking me to saw my right arm off. But I want you to live your life, hon," he said, raising his eyes to hers. "Naturally, as you father, I'm worried, you know? You still aren't fully recovered from the procedure, and you _must_ take your meds every day -"

"Which I can manage on my own, Dad. I'm taking them with me, of course."

"Yes. But the hospital is _here_. What if something goes wrong?"

"Then we'll go to the hospital there!"

"But those doctors and nurses don't know you like the ones here."

Emma draped a hand over Dylan's knee and glanced at him; his nod spurred her on. "I appreciate your concern, Dad, but I'll be fine; I'm an adult, now, capable of making my own decisions. We'll be gone for a couple of days and besides, I'll have Dylan to protect me." She shot him a grin; he basked in it.

"Yes, Mr. Decody." Dylan hoped the fact he was accompanying his daughter would mollify him. "I'll make sure nothing happens to her."

Emma's father passed a hand over his face with a sigh, blinking several times in rapid succession before acquiescing. "You're right, Emma. I can't tell you what to do anymore. I hate to see you go, but I can tell this is very important to you."

"Thanks, Dad. We're leaving tomorrow, first thing in the morning."

* * *

Dylan placed his hands on his hips, surveying the contents of his duffel. His clothes and toiletries were already accounted for, but he what else was he missing? He snapped his fingers and knelt beside his bed, groping for the revolver beneath the mattress. Mr. Decody didn't condone violence, but Mr. Decody hadn't endured what he had. In this dog eat dog world, Dylan felt naked without one.

The door creaked open. He hastily shoved the gun into the bottom of his bag before swiveling toward the unexpected visitor.

"Mr. Decody!" Dylan straightened like a student caught slouching in class.

"Sit," the older man ordered without preamble; Dylan complied, swallowing fear, riveted him to place by Mr. Decody's flinty stare. He had dealt with plenty of badasses (and just plain asses) in his life, but none held a candle to his girlfriend's father. "We need to talk."

"Sure." Dylan zipped up his bag and nudged it aside. The mattress groaned under Mr. Decody as he sunk onto it.

"You know how much I love Emma, right? How much I care for her?"

Dylan dragged clammy palms down his jeans. "Yes, sir."

"And that I would die if anything happened to her?"

He nodded.

"Emma is all I have left in this world. I love her more than anything on this earth. I've spent my whole life protecting her, more so because of her illness and I, like all of us, know tomorrow is never promised. But with her, that possibility was much more real. I would go with you if I could, but I can't. I am entrusting you with her life, and I expect you to do as good a job as I have. _Capiche?_ "

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Because if you don't…" he chuckled; Dylan frowned, oblivious to the humor in his words. "Because if you fail to keep her out of harm...fail to bring her home safe and sound, then…" He clamped the younger man's shoulder, eliciting a wince. "I don't think I need to say the rest."

He didn't. Mr. Decody had made himself clearer than crystal.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Chapter 3 coming next week. Please let us know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated! Also, the summary states a major character death will occur. Who do you think it will be?


	3. Chapter 3

**Kill the Messenger**

 **A Bates Motel Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Unable to keep his secret any longer, Dylan tells Emma what he knows regarding her mother's disappearance. Determined to uncover the truth, they pay a visit to Bates Motel to get answers from Norman, but will they find what they are looking for? Imagining of season five. Dylemma. Major character death.

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, sensuality, and major character death. One scene in chapter four contains intense violence that may disturbing to some readers.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **A/N:** We apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors in advance.

* * *

Dylan tucked the firearm into his waistband, under his t-shirt and bomber jacket. He shut the door to his pickup. "All set?"

"I think so," Emma replied, eying the bags piled in the backseat.

"Good. Let's go." Dylan slid behind the wheel and she climbed into the passenger seat. Doors locked and seatbelts fastened, he started his truck, engine roaring to life settling into a soporific purr as he backed out of the driveway.

As Dylan merged onto the freeway and joined the morning commute, Emma asked, "Did you call them?"

"Who?"

"Norman and your mom."

He scratched the nape of his neck with a grimace. "No. That kinda defeats the purpose of a _surprise_ visit." He didn't want to give his brother or mommy dearest the chance to do what they did best. "Last time I spoke with Norman, it sounded like Norma moved in with Romero. He said I wouldn't see her in a while...whatever that means."

Emma frowned. "I don't like the idea of Norman being alone."

He glanced at the sideview mirror before switching lanes. "I don't, either, but think of it this way: we know Norman and Norma were _way_ too attached, so maybe it's good they separated for a little while. It may be good for both of them. Norma can't be in Norman's life forever so…"

"Well, how is he taking it?"

Dylan shrugged. "He sounded fine over the phone, but we won't know for sure until we see him."

They lapsed into silence, and Emma promptly fell asleep, leaving Dylan to think. What if Norman _did_ murder Emma's mom? How would Emma react? Would she still want to be with him if his suspicions proved true? He couldn't envision life without her.

Dylan's fears jostled their way to the forefront of his mind. Foreboding trickled down his spine, claiming dominion over his body as a passing sign heralded their arrival in White Pine Bay, where corruption ran rampant under the facade of a quaint, quiet town. _Here we go again._ Emma had calibrated Dylan's faulty moral compass; if he didn't want to fall prey to his demons, it was imperative once he left this place, he left for good.

* * *

Gravel crunched under the wheels as Dylan pulled into Bates Motel's parking lot beside its lone occupant, an antediluvian Mercedes.

"That's weird." He shifted gears and killed the engine as Emma stirred and stretched, unbuckling her seatbelt with a yawn. "I didn't expect Norma here."

"Maybe she's visiting?"

"Maybe…At least they filled up the pit." Dylan jutted his chin toward it. He peered into the manager's office, past the conspicuous 'CLOSED' sign. Empty. Before them loomed the quintessential haunted house, spires jutting into the sky, shutters rattling in the wind. _Cue the thunder and lightening and it would be the perfect set for a horror movie.._.He started toward it then stopped, turning when he no longer sensed Emma's proximity. She stood several paces behind, staring at the former pit...

"You alright?"

Emma tore her eyes from the dirt mound. "Yeah."

Once they reached the door, Dylan said, "It's not too late to turn back. Are you sure about this?"

" _Yes,_ Dylan, I am. We came all this way, and I'm not turning back now."

He sighed then rapped his knuckles against the door. After a minute, Norman had yet to answer.

"Maybe he didn't hear." Emma raised her arm to knock, dropping it as footsteps approached, the deadbolt slammed, and the door opened. Norman's hair and his clothes - anachronisms in this day and age - were impeccable; yet dark circles rimmed his eyes, untouched by his smile. "Dylan! Emma! It's...so good to see you. What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Norman! We've never really had a chance to see you that much with you and I being in the hospital and all…" A baleful flash of Norman's eyes silenced her, and she left bygones days as they were.

"Well, it's good to see you. It's weird seeing you without the, ah..." Norman tapped his philtrum. "Oxygen." He chuckled, and Dylan gnashed his teeth.

"Are you going to invite us inside, _Norman_? It's kind of rude keeping your guests on the porch like this."

Norman's warm welcome turned cold. "It's kind of rude to show up unannounced."

"Guys, chill." Emma wedged herself between them. "I'm sorry we didn't call beforehand," she told a scowling Norman. "We wanted it to be a surprise."

"It's a surprise, alright."

"Just let us in!" Dylan snapped.

"Fine! Fine." Norman stepped aside. First Emma, then Dylan, entered the commodious foyer that hadn't changed besides a newly-installed stained glass window.

"Is Norma here?" Dylan's eyes drifted upstairs. "I saw her car outside."

"Yes."

"Can we see her?"

" _No!_ " ricocheted off the walls. Norman sighed, grappling with rage. "I mean, she's sick. She's not really up to visitors."

"Are you sure?" Norma's eldest son, gripping the banister, mounted the first stair. "I'm sure she won't mind if I poke my head in and say hi -"

"Like I said, _Dylan_ , she's been under the weather the past few days. You should let her rest."

 _What does she have, leprosy?_ "Fine," Dylan acquiesced. "But I thought she was living with Romero?"

Norman scoffed and led into Dylan and Emma to the kitchen, who exchanged a worried glance. "Why would she be living with _him_?" He did not deign to acknowledge his stepfather by name.

Dylan shrugged. "I don't know. I assumed she did because you said I wouldn't hear from her in a while."

"They're divorced, now," Norman opened the fridge; it was near empty. _Maybe Norman hadn't adjusted to independent living after all._ Living on the outskirts of town required a car he couldn't drive, and it was a wonder how he survived this life of privation this long. Norma cosseted him and would've kept the pantry stocked.

Dylan's eyebrows twitched. "Wait - they're divorced? When did this happen?"

Norman shrugged with feigned indifference. "A couple weeks ago. She came to live with me." He shut the refrigerator door and leaned against it. "Are you guys hungry? I'm starving."

Emma rubbed her stomach. "Actually, we could use a little food don't you think, Dylan?"

"Sure."

"Great!" Norman brought his hands together. "Let's go out; I know the perfect place. I'll run upstairs and grab my jacket." Dylan waited until he was outside earshot before speaking.

"How are we going to approach this?"

Emma bit her lip. "I don't know. I'm just trying to make small talk, make him comfortable. And then, I'll ask politely…"

"Norman doesn't trust us. He knows we didn't show up here because we missed him and wanted to see him. And I have a bad feeling about Norma. She may be in bad shape, but I don't like how's he not letting us see her."

"Maybe she's ill, Dylan."

"Then she should be in the hospital!" Remembering they were not alone, he lowered his voice. "I don't know, Emma. I don't trust him. He's hiding something."

"Who's hiding what?" They whipped toward their host, a tweed jacket draped over his arm.

"Nothing, Norman. Let's just go out to eat, alright? And maybe we can do some grocery shopping on the way back. I don't see a morsel of food in here."

"Good idea. I would have, but with Mother being sick and all..." he said as Dylan steered him toward the door.

* * *

"Ooh…I love the theme!" Emma slid onto the banquette whose cracked red leather upholstery bled stuffing. The diner had captured the retro 1950s zeitgeist perfectly with its chrome accents, checkered linoleum, and rainbow jukebox blaring rock n' roll.

"I'm glad you like it," Norman sat across his brother and friend, setting his jacket beside him. "Mother and I used to come here all the time."

Dylan cocked his head. _"'Used?'"_

"Well, we, uh…" he stammered. "We haven't been going lately because she's been sick, with the divorce and all...you get it, don't you?"

 _I don't._ "I do."

Before Dylan could press Norman further, a waitress introducing herself as Peggy came for their orders.

"So what have you been up to, Norman?" Emma inquired as their server pushed through the kitchen's swinging double doors, unleashing the clamor of pots and pans onto patrons. Dylan laced his fingers and placed them on the table.

"Well, nothing much. Just busy running the motel and whatnot…" He changed the subject. "What about you two? How's Washington?"

"It's nice. Very serene." Emma stirred her frothy vanilla shake with a straw. "I was thinking once I recover enough to live on my own, I would return to White Pine Bay. But I like it so much up there that I might stay."

"That's nice -" Norman stood abruptly. Dylan straightened; was his brother falling into a trance, blacking out, assuming the persona of _Mother_?

"Dr. Edwards!" Dylan and Emma gaped at the African-American man approaching from behind.

"Norman. It's so good to see you. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay. Dr. Edwards, this is my brother, Dylan, and his girlfriend, Emma." The psychiatrist shook each hand in turn while exchanging pleasantries. "Dylan, Emma, this is my psychiatrist from Pineview, Dr. Edwards."

"I've been meaning to speak with you, Norman, but I understand you've been dealing with a lot as of late. I am so sorry for your loss, but would like to see you back in my office soon. We've made a lot of progress, and I don't want our work to go in vain."

Norman glanced at Emma and Dylan. "Yes, Mr. Edwards. I know we need to continue the outpatient therapy sessions. It's been hard...but I'm working on getting back into the swing of things."

The psychiatrist nodded. "Glad to hear that, Norman. You take care of yourself, now." He acknowledged them with a twist of the lips more grimace than smile. "Good night."

"Thanks," Dylan said. "Good night."

The waitress returned with dinner. Emma devoured hers, Dylan picked at his, and Norman glared at both, clenching and unclenching his hands.

He rose, snatching up his jacket. "I'm not very hungry. I want to go home."

Dylan suppressed an an eye roll. "Norman, you can't just get up and leave. Emma and I have been through a long trip, and we're hungry. We'd like to eat."

"Fine. You can eat and _I'll_ wait in the car." He spun on his heel and stormed out, chimes tinkling as the door closed behind him.

"Damn it." He had no choice but to follow. After footing the bill and leaving a tip, Dylan and Emma scurried into the brisk night, doggy bags in hand, to the truck with Norman sulking in the back seat - nostrils flared, arms crossed, and pouting like a petulant child.

"What the hell, Norman?" The cab quaked as Dylan slammed the door. "You can't just up and leave like that!"

"Well, I just did!" he retorted.

"And what's going on between you and Dr. Edwards? It sounds like you're supposed to be seeing him on an outpatient basis, but you haven't been going lately?"

"I don't have to tell you anything!"

"Yes, you do! I'm your brother!"

" _Half_ -brother! I don't need your help or anyone else's."

Dylan clenched the wheel, skin taut, knuckles ashen. He couldn't believe Norman would be so petty as to spit that in his face; it stung. His fist itched to knock him into next week. Instead, he scrubbed his eyes, deciding not to waste more time or energy bickering. "You know what? I'm tired. Let's go home."

"That's what I've been saying all along," Norman muttered.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Chapter four will be posted next week. Please let us know what you think. Any feedback, including constructive criticism, is welcome and appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Kill the Messenger**

 **A Bates Motel Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Unable to keep his secret any longer, Dylan tells Emma what he knows regarding her mother's disappearance. Determined to uncover the truth, they pay a visit to Bates Motel to get answers from Norman, but will they find what they are looking for? Imagining of season five. Dylemma. Major character death.

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, sensuality, and major character death. This chapter contains a scene of intense violence that may be disturbing to some readers.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **A/N:** We apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors in advance.

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Norman marched to the manager's office, keys jangling as he produced them. "Which suite are you staying in?"

Dylan shut the door to his pickup. "Suite? We're not staying in the motel, Norman. We aren't guests; we're family. Emma and I are sleeping in my old room."

Norman frowned. "You are?"

"Yes. And don't argue with me; it's too late for that. Help us carry our bags into the house."

"No! You should really sleep at the motel," he insisted. "It's much nicer. With Mother sick and all, it's been hard keeping house..."

"I told you before, Norman, and I'm telling you again: we are _not_ staying in the motel. What's your problem?" Dylan's eyes narrowed. "Are you hiding something?"

Norman chuckled. "No, of course not! Why would I have a problem? I'm more than happy to help you with the bags."

"That's what I thought."

"Thanks, Norman," Emma grinned as her host took her bag and lugged it into the house, grunting all the way. He halted outside Dylan's room, immaculate as he left it.

"I'm going to bed. Good night." Before his guests could say likewise, he was gone.

"Tomorrow," Dylan told Emma once he shut the door and they readied themselves for bed.

"What about it?"

"We're going to ask him."

Nodding, Emma shut off the lights and climbed into bed beside Dylan, snuggling against him. "Definitely. Let's try to get some sleep; it's been a long day." She laid her head on his chest, lulled by his strong, steady heartbeat. Before she drifted into dreamland, Dylan bolted upright, startling her.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

" _That._ " He glanced at the overhead vent. "I think it's coming from there. Listen."

 _"Of course I let them in, Mother! I didn't have much of a choice."_

They looked at each other.

 _"I know, I know._ _It was a bad idea. They don't know a thing about what happened."_

"I don't hear your mom responding," Emma said. "Is he talking to her over the phone?"

"Why would he? They're in the same room." Dylan swung his legs over the bed, and she followed him to the door. "I'm going to investigate." He opened it slowly, wincing as hinges groaned and floorboards creaked, then crept out. He knocked on Norma's door, and the conversation ceased at once.

 _"W-who is it?"_

"It's me, Norman," Dylan replied. "Who else? Please open up. We need to talk."

 _"Uh, now isn't the best time. Mother and I are discussing...things."_

"I want to see Norma, too."

 _"She's very sick!"_

"Obviously not sick enough to carry on a conversation with you. No more games. Let me in."

 _"I_ can't _."_

"That's enough, Norman." Dylan pounded on the door. "Open up!" When he didn't, Dylan yelled, "If you won't let us in, _I'll_ let ourselves in!" He advised Emma to step back and she did, eying him warily.

He kicked the door off its hinges. "Norman, what's -" He froze. Norma sat erect in a... _throne_...her vermillion dress evoking a nebulous recollection of a holiday banquet she and Dylan attended before Norman was born. Her cerulean eyes were a porcelain doll's - unmoving, unseeing. He ran toward her, knees buckling once he reached her.

"Norma! What?" He recoiled from the ice-cold flesh brushing against his fingers. He turned to Emma; her eyes were wide, hands clamped over her mouth to stifle a scream.

"Norman, what's going on?! Norma's dead!"

"She committed suicide after she split up from Romero."

"That was weeks ago! Our own mother died and you didn't tell me?" Norman said he wouldn't be hearing from her for 'a while,' but Dylan hadn't thought 'never.' "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"About Mother?" Norman's eyes flashed. "You barely treated her like one."

"I know we didn't have the best relationship, but she was still my mom!" Tears welled in his eyes. "God, Norman. You had her stuffed like one of your damn animals. What the hell is wrong with you?! You think this is okay in that twisted, warped, morbid mind of yours?" Why hadn't he buried or cremated her like a normal person? Poured her ashes into an ornamental urn to display on the mantelpiece or scatter across the sea?

He fled to the bathroom, crumpling in front of the toilet, emptying his stomach into it. He staggered toward the sink to wash his hands and face then dried them with a towel, wishing he could wipe his mind as easily as his skin.

Emma lingered outside the door, eyes red, cheeks tearstained. "Are you alright?"

"As alright as I can be in this situation."

"I think I'm ready to confront Norman," she said; Dylan nodded.

Norman approached them. "Dylan, are you -"

"Did you kill her, Norman? Audrey Decody?"

He blinked and in that instant, Dylan knew. "W-What?"

Emma's voice cracked. "Answer the question, Norman. Please, I need to know. Did you kill my mother?"

Norman's mouth moved, but no words emerged. Finally, he spluttered, "I don't - I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play stupid with us." Norman cowered into the wall as Dylan advanced on him. "I looked at the logs. She was here. She checked in, but never checked out. There was the letter she wrote for Emma, the stuffed rabbit...don't deny it because it's a waste of time. We know you killed her. Just tell us what happened."

"I don't know. I...I _can't_ remember." His lower lip trembled. "I remember checking her in and before I knew it, she was gone. I was in the attic the other day, and I found a suitcase of her stuff. I was confused because I know it didn't belong to Mother, but as I went through it, the memories started coming back in pieces. And then I realized I had done something bad, something oh so very wrong." Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I swear, if I could go back in time and change this, I would. I hate having these…"

"Blackouts," Dylan said.

"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

 _I must report this. Maybe not to the authorities, but at least to Dr. Edwards._ He spun toward Emma, the epitome of despair with her face in her hands. "I know you're scared, Norman," he said, tearing his eyes from her. "I talked to Norma a while ago, and it seemed like you were making excellent progress with your therapy. You need to return to Pineview."

He adamantly shook his head. "No, I'm not going back. I don't need help."

"Yes, you do. You're in denial. You're a danger to yourself and others. If you go back to therapy and take your medications, you will do fine."

"Dylan's right," Emma interjected. "Do as he says so no one else - including you - gets hurt." _Or worse._

"I promise, I won't do anything like this ever again."

"You don't know that, Norman!" Dylan said. Would he ever understand? "I swear, I'll call Dr. Edwards right now." He didn't have his number, but a quick Google search would rectify that.

"Oh no you won't!" He whipped out a gun, aimed at Dylan's forehead.

Emma yelped; Dylan threw up his hands, reeling into the wall. "Whoa, Norman! Put that away. Where'd you get that, huh?" His jaw dropped. "Hey, that's mine!"

"Why do you have this, Dylan? Were you planning to kill me? To stop my supposed _'reign of terror'?_ Is that why you came?" Norman brandished the weapon.

"It's for protection. You know that. Now give it back." He slowly extended his hand.

"Protection from what? _Me?_ "

"Please, Norman," Emma implored. "We won't call the doctor. We promise."

Dylan gnashed his teeth; he wouldn't be so lenient.

Norman cocked the hammer, forefinger on the trigger. "I don't believe you."

Seizing his chance, Dylan lunged, knocking them to the ground. "Give me the gun!" He jerked it toward him.

"No!" Norman yanked back.

 _"Give it to me!"_

"Guys, _stop!"_ Startled by Emma's scream, Dylan finger's twitched. Norman gasped, flinching when the gun erupted between them. They gaped at Emma, supine on the floor, red blooming across her negligee. Dylan dropped the gun, not caring his brother could retrieve it and shoot him in the back as he scrambled to her aid.

"Emma...no no no...Emma, speak to me." He held her face in his hands as she she clung to life. Blood trickled from her mouth, more soaking her pajamas pooling beneath her.

He gripped her hand.

"Dylan…"

"I'm sorry!" Tears coursed down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"

Emma closed her eyes. "Not...your...fault.…"

"Call 911!" When Norman didn't budge, Dylan bellowed, " _Now!_ Hurry up! We don't have much time…" Norman snatched the phone from its cradle, murmuring into the receiver as Dylan stroked Emma's hair. Norman hung up, watching his brother's undoing from a distance, face ashen.

"Emma…"

"Dylan..."

He tried stanching the flow, but couldn't stop the crimson tide spilling between his and Emma's fingers, surging with each heartbeat until...nothing. Dylan gawked at her chest, willing it to rise again, but it never did. It never would.

"Emma...Emma! _No!"_ He slumped over her, bawling until the tears ran dry. _I killed her._ Then, in a burst of clarity, he remembered. _No, I hadn't._ He stood, choking on tears, slowly revolving toward Norman.

" _You._ This is all your fault." He delivered a haymaker to his brother's nose, relishing the crunch of bone, the spurt of blood, the howl of pain. Norman stumbled to the floor, arms raised against the flurry of fists until they dropped to his sides when he lost consciousness, his face a swollen, bloody pulp. Dylan crashed on top, straddling him, and squeezed that scrawny neck.

"You...this...is all...your fault…" Dylan hissed before his vision faded to black.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! The final chapter will be posted next week. Please let us know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

**Kill the Messenger**

 **A Bates Motel Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Unable to keep his secret any longer, Dylan tells Emma what he knows regarding her mother's disappearance. Determined to uncover the truth, they pay a visit to Bates Motel to get answers from Norman, but will they find what they are looking for? Imagining of season five. Dylemma. Major character death.

 **/!\ Warnings:** Mild language, sensuality, and major character death.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **A/N:** We apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors in advance.

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

Dylan opened his eyes, wincing as incandescent lights accosted them. Antiseptic and latex permeated the air, monitors beeping steadily like metronomes.

"What the?" He inspected the IV in his arm that led to a bag of normal saline infusing.

"You're awake."

He snapped his head toward the African-American woman in the corner. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"Special Agent Liz Babbitt." She flashed her badge before tucking it into the breast pocket of her blazer.

"What...what happened to me?"

She crossed her ankle over the opposite knee, pen poised over a fresh sheet in her notepad. "I'm hoping you can tell me. We found you lying next to your brutally beaten brother and a dead girl." _Emma._ Realization landed like a punch to the gut.

He poured himself some water, draining it in two gulps. "Where's Norman?"

He hoped _morgue,_ but she said, "ICU. He's in very bad shape. He was placed him in a medically induced coma to reduce the swelling in his brain. They won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up... _If he wakes up."_

He grunted. "Where's Sheriff Romero?"

"Don't worry about him." Babbit's brusque dismissal perturbed him further. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Fine. My girlfriend Emma and I confronted my brother Norman about her mother. Her name was Audrey. I found out she had stayed in the motel my family owns, the Bates Motel, but never checked out. Norman suffers from blackouts and he sometimes hurts people during them. He doesn't remember that, though, but I had evidence he was responsible for Mrs. Decody's disappearance. Once I told Emma about it, she wanted the truth from Norman, so we paid him a visit. After I discovered Norman embalmed our mother, things got heated. Norman stole my gun and pointed it at me and Emma. I wrestled it from him and then it went off, accidentally...accidentally shooting Emma." He choked on her name.

She jotted down his account and did not look up until she finished.

"Mr. Massett, you claim to have evidence regarding Audrey Decody's disappearance."

"She is not a missing person. She's been murdered. By Norman Bates."

Babbitt quirked a brow. "That's a pretty serious allegation. Proof?"

"Yes. I saw a letter she wrote for her daughter and a stuffed rabbit in my brother's room. Why would it be there? They crossed paths, somehow. Norman has a history of -" He stopped. _What happens at the motel stays at the motel._ He'd have no qualms telling Romero, who made his family's myriad problems 'disappear.' _Where the hell is he, anyway?_

"A history of what?"

 _Of killing people._ Dylan cleared his throat. "Of blacking out, like I said."

"We searched your brother's house and didn't find anything."

Dylan knitted his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we found Norma Bates' body."

"I told you!"

"And although it is very, er... _strange_ for a son to preserve his mother, it isn't illegal. We didn't, however, find the letter or stuffed rabbit you speak of. Are you sure your memory did not..." She dipped her chin. _"Betray you?"_

"Of course it didn't! You seriously think I would make this up?"

She shrugged. "We found no evidence to support your claim. What else am I supposed to believe?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know." His voice oozed sarcasm. "Maybe my brother hid or disposed of the evidence that would have landed his ass behind bars for the rest of his life? Anyone else with a brain would do the same thing."

"After beating him within an inch from his life?"

"He probably got rid of it long before we got there."

Babbit leaned closer, twiddling her pen. "Is it possible your brother may have been romantically interested in Emma?"

"Yeah. They were friends. I think they may have had crushes on each other, but nothing really came of it." Dylan frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"I'll ask the questions, Mr. Massett," she replied, face and tone hardening. "How would you feel if Emma broke up with you and got together with Norman?"

"I love Emma, so yeah, I would be pretty upset."

"Upset enough to nearly kill him over it?"

"What! Are you saying I almost killed Norman because I thought he was trying to get with Emma? That isn't remotely close to the truth."

"It's a scenario I need to consider."

"Well, you need to reconsider." He scoffed. "You know what? I don't want to talk anymore. I'm not saying anything else until I have a lawyer." _I should have kept quiet since the beginning._

The detective stood, sighing. "I appreciate your candor, but you should have told me earlier. I've heard all I needed...for now. Once you're discharged, I'll have your ass for the attempted murder of Norman Bates and the involuntary manslaughter of Emma Decody." Dylan stared at the wall and into the bleak future as she walked out, the slam of the door resounding in his head. Emma and Norma were the only ones worth living for, and now both were gone.

Dylan ripped out his IV, his bellow of pain mingling with the cacophony of alarms as he thrashed in bed, flecking the sheets, floor, and walls crimson.

"Mr. Massett, calm down!" The nurse flung herself on him. "I need help in here!" she cried as he bucked her off, running out while more staff rushed in and pinned him in place until she returned, expelling air bubbles from a syringe.

"This will hurt only a little," she said, followed by a slight pinch in the arm.

And out he went like a light.

* * *

After screaming he wanted to die, the hospital placed Dylan on suicide watch until he was cleared. As far as he knew, Norman was recuperating in the ICU a floor above him. Dylan hoped not; his brother didn't deserve life after Emma and Norma lost theirs.

Security ushered him to the police cruiser idling in the valet loop. Dylan never caught a glimpse of the officer's name or rank, nor did he care as he cuffed and stuffed him into the backseat. They arrived at the station minutes later, where he was led him to a sparsely furnished room, one of its chairs occupied by none other than -

"Babbit. I never hoped I'd see you again."

She smirked, tracing the rim of a cup of black coffee Dylan preferred loaded with cream and sugar. He hooked his foot around a chair leg, dragging it out and plopping down.

"I'm asking you one last time," Babbit said. "Are you certain you found a letter written by Audrey Decody?"

"Absolutely. I know she was there. My brother even said he found her luggage in the attic! He put it there!"

"I want to believe you, Dylan. She gazed into her drink like it was the panacea to all woes. "I really do. But your claims are circumstantial at best; they doesn't prove anything."

"Yes, they do! You don't know Norman like I do! I know he killed her!"

"Enough, Dylan!" Babbitt slapped the table; the cup toppled, and coffee spilled. She whisked papers into her arms and scooted back, sparing them and her suit. "You are telling me that Norman killed this woman when he had no motive, nothing to gain from it whatsoever? As far as I am concerned, Audrey Decody is alive and well. We know what kind of person she is: one with a troubled past who does not want to be found."

"Unless they're dead!"

"You don't deny you tried to kill your brother, but you may get a lighter sentence if you plead insanity."

Dylan frowned. "Why? I'm not crazy."

"That's a moot point. Let's see what the professionals at Pineview have to say."

"What? I'm undergoing a psychiatric evaluation?"

"Yes. And if the results come back what I think they are, you may be able to spend time there instead of a cell."

"You can't do this to me!" Dylan sprung to his feet as a pair of burly orderlies barged in and tackled him. "I...I need to sign a consent form or something!" He writhed in their arms.

"Not if you are a danger to yourself and others; you're both. You caused your brother grievous bodily injury, and I heard about that episode in the hospital. You had to be restrained. The staff said you were ranting and raving about wanting to die and killing yourself, after doing your brother in first. Clearly, you are not in your right state of mind and in desperate need of reality testing."

"You've got this all wrong!" Dylan screamed as the men dragged him down the hall, out the station, and toward a van with the Pineview logo emblazoned on its side. "I'm not the one who should be going to Pineview! Norman should be there, not me! Let me go!"

 _"Ha ha ha!"_

He whipped around. _That laugh._ It was Norman, clutching his middle as he cackled at the irony.

 _Oh, the irony!_ Dylan burst into laughter. _Hilarious!_ His body quivered with an intractable case of the giggles.

"He's a nut," one man said as they shoved Dylan into the back.

 _You got that right._ He _was_ going insane. That tends to happen when people told you something didn't exist when you knew it really did.

 _The End_

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! This chapter concludes _Kill the Messenger._ Please let us know what you think.


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